


Stone Number One

by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dean, Episode: s07e17 The Born-Again Identity, Gen, Hallucinations, Hell Trauma, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, POV Outsider, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam has an extended psych ward stay, doing his absolute best to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-06-26 05:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19761130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod/pseuds/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: Maryanne had worked as a nurse in the psychiatric ward for years, which meant that she knew a bad case when she saw one. Sam Smith's certainly matched her description of a terrible and undeserved psychotic break, but he had something most of her patients didn't: an older brother named Dean.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So season 7 isn't my favorite, but I love 7x17 The Born-Again Identity. In an effort to add more angst to it, this is an extended version of Sam's psych ward stay where Cas doesn't save the day and Dean does absolutely everything in his power to fix things because he's a good big brother. Lots of h/c. Also told from an outsider's perspective because I find it neat to write in this format. I don't do it often, so please if you have a minute I'd love to hear thoughts on it. The story should be four chapters once it's been edited. Thanks for reading!
> 
> I don't own the show or any book titles/quotes that are referenced. All the books were chosen for their own reasons.

After nearly twenty years spent working in Northern Indiana State Hospital’s psychiatric ward, Maryanne had seen almost everything. Psychotic breaks of nearly every sort, patients with a range of delusions that others on the outside wouldn’t believe, people at their rock bottom trying to deal, you name it. There was a young girl, Marin, admitted almost a month ago because of a fire she may have lit (Maryanne learned early on to not judge outright without all the facts in one way or another, and the girl’s case did seem strange) to kill herself. But beyond that, things had been as normal as they could have been in the ward.

Normal was, of course, relative, and even their low standards were put to the test in early April. Maryanne was helping the night staff, her second shift of the week, when they received a transfer from the hospital. She was given the paperwork to sign to accept the transfer, but looked at it quizzically.

“He was hit by a car and had drugs in his system?” she asked as she flipped through the patient’s first few pages on file. It just didn’t seem like their kind of case, was all.

The doctor, William Stevens, a knowledgeable, competent young man that had brought over the paperwork nodded and flipped to one of the pages closer to the back. “It’s a new strain of depressants that’s been hitting the streets. But with how much is in his blood, there’s no way he should have been awake, much less mobile enough to be struck by a vehicle. And…”

“What else?” Maryanne looked up from the paperwork.

Stevens was young compared to Maryanne, thirties to her late fifties, but he still had experience, so if something had him tongue-tied then it must have been truly confusing. “We patched him up, but can’t give him anything until the depressants are out of his system, a few hours at this rate,” Maryanne nodded, following along, “but he’s got this look in his eyes. Every so often he’ll glance to an empty part of the room and flinch like there’s something there. He’s refusing to rest, even though he must be exhausted, it’s showing on his features.”

“Did he say when the last time he slept was?”

“He answered a few days, but didn’t give a specific number.”

“Emergency contact?”

“We called the most commonly referenced number by a long shot in his contacts, but there was no answer.”

Maryanne sighed and nodded. Sam Smith they’d gotten from his wallet, and the poor man wasn’t even thirty. About the same age as her Robbie, even. And imagining him going through trials like that…

She signed the required papers and handed them back to Dr. Stevens. “I’ll be by to check on him as soon as I finish my rounds.”

Stevens took the pen as well as the papers. “Night, Maryanne.”

“I think you mean good morning,” she smiled at him, to which she got a breathy laugh back before they parted ways.

Maryanne stole glances at the patient file that remained in her hands as she made her rounds. Sam Smith had been treated for a broken rib and several lacerations, as well as a possible psychotic break listed in the ‘other’ category. Insomnia was listed as an already existing condition. She found it was lucky that not only was he minorly injured, but that the driver had called emergency services after the accident.

Still, there wasn’t anything lucky about a young man being stuck in a psychiatric ward. She glanced over the other notes, enough to know that he seemed to be agreeable, nonviolent, and prone to lapses in concentration, most likely caused by his attention being diverted to something that wasn’t actually in the room.

By the time she had finished checking in with the nurses and other patients, it still didn’t prepare her for what she saw when she entered his room. She tapped on the door a few times of course, even though it was open, before she stepped beyond the threshold of the room.

The man looking back at her didn’t look like someone that had yet to turn thirty. His eyes, beyond the exhaustion, carried a weight behind them that she had seldom seen. His almost six and a half foot tall frame barely fit on the bed. But what was more surprising than that was how small he managed to look while on it. Sam’s arms were protectively curled over his chest, legs slightly drawn up. The required white uniform did nothing to help his complexion. But more than just the physical, Sam’s eyes were what caught Maryanne’s attention.

He looked haunted. He looked like he had been through some sort of hell all his own that no one else understood. Maryanne wanted nothing more than to take some of that pain away, get him some rest, and figure out what was actually going on. But first things first.

“Sam Smith?” she asked, even though she clearly knew his name. His eyes focused on her more when she began speaking, which was a good sign for responsiveness, bad for the fact that he should have probably been unconscious. “I’m Maryanne, one of the nurse managers here at the hospital.”

“Hi,” was all he said, and it came out quiet and raw. She didn’t doubt that it was from the lack of sleep.

“Do you happen to know why you’re here, Sam?”

He took a moment before he replied. “In a hospital or in a psych ward?”

“Whichever you feel more comfortable answering.” His level of awareness was still strong, which was positive.

“Was hit by a car and…” his eyebrows furrowed together like he was really thinking about something, “not sleeping. But it’s just work stress, it’ll pass.”

Even as he was saying it, Maryanne could see right through it. His eyes shifted from his feet to her and eventually to something behind her, even though there was nothing else in the room. She’d even go so far as to say he recoiled. It may not have been noticed by a normal person, he did a good job of downplaying it, but she had plenty of experience with patients experiencing hallucinations, and knew what to look for.

“Sam?” she asked it quietly and kindly and made a show of putting down the clipboard and pen. It took a few seconds but finally he took a deep breath and focused back on her. “I want you to know this is a safe place. Free from judgement or anything harmful, even though it may be a bit disconcerting at first. Trust me, I’ve worked here long enough to know that.”

He didn’t look any less haunted, but she was rewarded for her honest efforts with a small smile. “Thanks, yeah, I know. Just…tired, lots to sort through.”

Maryanne nodded. “Try not to think too much, alright? You could use the rest.” She looked down to check her watch. She compared how much time had passed with when Sam had been brought into the hospital and the notes that had been previously made on his condition. “How about we try giving you some sedatives now that the depressants should have worn off so you can sleep easier?”

“I’ll try anything.” It was so quiet, like he was almost guilty or scared to admit it, that Maryanne almost missed it, but decided to not remark on it. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” she smiled back. “I’ll be back in a jiff.” Sam nodded slightly but other than that made no other movements. Maryanne left the room but had to take a few moments once she was back in the hallway to sort through everything.

He didn’t appear dangerous, which was a relief, those cases brought with them another level of difficulty altogether, and they’d already have their hands full dealing with his insomnia and hallucinations. She took the papers back to the desk where she put in the information for the sedatives, hopeful that with them the poor young man could at least get some rest and they could figure out more when he came around.

* * *

Of course, hope only got people so far. And for Sam Smith, it got him absolutely nowhere. When Maryanne got in for her next night shift a day later, she was crestfallen to find out that nothing had changed with Sam’s condition. The sedatives hadn’t improved his state. He still had lapses where he was afflicted with hallucinations, but they appeared to be getting more physical in nature, like his facade keeping them at bay was crumbling. A psychiatrist had been sent in to talk to Sam and had come away with much of what Maryanne had already found out.

He did mention that the hallucinations were most likely brought on by some serious past traumas, most likely long-term due to how negatively they were impacting Sam even now. He had no past history with substance abuse, which was a relief, and other than his current state seemed like a healthy young man. But he wouldn’t talk about his hallucinations, which was a hurdle they would have to get over eventually if Sam ever wanted improve.

There had been a development outside of Sam’s state, though. His brother, the mysterious D that had been called the most on Sam’s cell phone, had shown up earlier in the day and been briefed on Sam’s condition by Dr. Kadinsky. Visiting hours were over, even though apparently Dean had put up a fight, and had promised to return first thing in the morning.

From what the other nurses had said, he had a definite protective streak over his four years younger brother, and some unresolved issues himself that they picked up on just by observing him.

She checked on each of her patients and Sam too, of course, but didn’t make any progress aside from her deepening sadness for him. It was often that she felt people didn’t deserve what they were afflicted with, and Sam more so than many others.

It wasn’t until her next day shift two days later that she finally met the Dean that everyone had been whispering about. She paused outside the room before she entered, just out of eyeshot, but she could still hear what was going on inside.

Sam was talking to someone with a deeper voice and it didn’t take a genius to guess that it was Dean. She didn’t want to intrude on their conversation, but she was happy that Sam had someone to confide in and trust during this difficult time. Happy and still worried.

The arrival of his brother had improved his state, the other nurses had mentioned, but Sam still wasn’t sleeping despite medications and his hallucinations were getting worse. Whatever he was seeing was intent on not letting him catch a break even for an hour or two.

“No scales.”

“Yeah, a scale, give me a baseline to work from, huh? What are we dealing with?”

Sam let out a tired sigh that Maryanne could hear even from the hallway.

“Three.”

“Sure, and I’m a fairy princess.”

“Dean…” Sam trailed off, and Maryanne could tell the conversation was taking a lot out of him. “It doesn’t hurt, not really, I’m just…”

“Just what? Sam?”

That little uptick in Dean’s tone was Maryanne’s signal to enter. She tapped on the doorframe and stood in the threshold before going any further, seeing what had caused Dean’s worry. Sam was looking off into the corner of the room, body rigid and tense.

Talking to him, shifting his focus, was generally the best way to snap him out of whatever he was seeing. Dean had turned to look at her, helplessness written all over his face, as if the situation didn’t break her heart enough already.

“Sam, I was just about to tell Dean here,” she said as she walked into the room, perhaps making a bit of a show as she went to adjust the blinds on the windows that were perfect to begin with, “about how you were explaining the rules of chess to me the other day.” It was true, even in his state, and Sam had seemed grateful for a momentary distraction.

“Oh yeah? Finally found someone to listen to your boring mumbo jumbo, huh Sammy? Got her wrapped around your finger already?” Dean looked between Maryanne and his brother. Thankfully the extra voices pulled Sam out of it faster than some of his other hallucinations and within a minute the tenseness had decreased and his gaze had fixed loosely back on his brother.

“You’ll have to play her one of these days, just don’t teach her all your tricks,” Dean reached over from his chair to nudge Sam’s arm with his elbow.

That little contact all by itself seemed to ground Sam in a way nothing else could, and Maryanne immediately knew that the boys, and their connection, were something special. Sam looked a little confused at first, but when Dean tilted his head towards Maryanne, he smiled slightly.

“Maryanne,” she introduced after she finished ‘fixing’ the blinds. “I’m assuming you’re the big brother Dean that Sam here doesn’t stop talking about?”

“Gee, Sammy, makin’ me famous already, nice work.”

Sam actually rolled his eyes at that one, which made Maryanne smile.

“Mind if I steal him for a sec?” she asked his express permission, and was glad he was back with them enough to nod and gesture towards the door with his hand.

Dean looked back and forth between the two of them, reluctant to leave the chair the nurses said he seldom vacated except when hours were over or for a few minute breaks here or there.

“It’ll be short, I promise,” Maryanne assured both of them, and finally Dean agreed, stood up, and followed her into the hallway. She led them a few doors down to a quieter section of the hospital before she stopped. “It’s good to meet you Dean, really. I’m one of the nurse managers here, I’ve been kept very up to date on Sam’s condition, he really does mention you a lot.”

Dean’s gaze shifted to the floor and he shrugged, and Maryanne was close to saying that he may have been a bit uncomfortable with the praise, or just worried, because he quickly changed topics. “How bad is he? Really? I mean, I’ve spoken to the doc and some of the other staff, but I need all the opinions I can get.”

Maryanne took a breath and sighed. “He’s an…interesting case. A good man, as far as I can tell,” Dean’s interrupting nod helped confirm that, “that something awful has happened to. I’ll be honest, we’ve tried everything we’ve thought to, methods that have helped others in the past with similar conditions, but he isn’t improving.”

Dean’s face fell at that and he leaned a shoulder against the wall.

“He needs rest, real rest, not a scattered hour or two, but the hallucinations won’t let him sleep, and he hasn’t done much in the way of describing them, so we don’t know what we’re up against.”

“They are on the hard side to explain,” Dean said a bit to himself under his breath.

“Is there anything you know about them that could help us help him?” She was almost pleading with him, hoping there was some scrap of information he could give them that could help the staff avoid triggers, since they had established none, or ways to talk him down when he was seeing things. Still, it was a relief that at least someone knew what Sam was up against. That someone being Sam’s brother, who he seemed to trust implicitly and wholly, had the opportunity to do Sam some good if he ever did want to open up about it.

Dean rubbed a hand across his forehead and when he dropped it, she could see the weight of the world in his eyes and on his shoulders. The weight of the world, for him, was his little brother, she saw that clear as day.

“No matter how little sense it makes, trust me, I have open ears.”

He thought about it for a few more seconds before he looked at her. “Sam is a good man. Best I’ve ever known, and not just because he’s my family,” he said it with such conviction that she’d never disbelieve him. “Literally saving people from fires kinda guy. But a few years back…” Dean paused and shook his head, “he got captured by the guy he was trying to save people from. Tortured. For a while, too long, by his own personal devil, if you will.”

Maryanne nodded slightly to show that she was still actively listening.

“And I couldn’t save him.” His voice broke, but he covered it quickly with a cough. “When I got him back, his mind set up a wall of sorts to keep the memories at bay, you’ve probably seen that stuff before.”

Maryanne nodded again. She’d seen plenty of patients with repressed traumatic memories.

“A few months ago, it all came back. He started seeing that devil wherever he went. Then we uh…we lost someone close to us, then another, it got worse, and a week or so ago he started losing sleep over it.”

He cleared this throat again and settled his gaze on the floor. Maryanne wanted more than anything to tell him that it would be alright, that Sam’s mind would correct itself when he realized the devilish man was no longer a threat, something along the lines of what worked for the other cases. But this was no other case, not to this extreme. She soon realized, still looking at Dean, that she was also dealing with a man with an extraordinarily large guilt complex over having failed to help his brother.

If they weren’t in their current situation, she’d be writing down the names of some well known therapists in the area for Dean himself. She’d set up appointments for them if that was what it took.

“Are there any triggers to it? Things the staff should avoid?”

Dean shook his head. “The guy’s always there, constant harassment, nothing in particular sets it off.”

“Any solutions you’ve tried? Even short term?” Anything he could tell them would help, and she was grateful he was even telling her this much.

Another head shake. “I’d say drink until he passes out, but you know,” he tried for a smirk but there was nothing akin to humor behind his words.

Maryanne paused. No triggers, but also no current solutions. She ran through a mental list of other patients and what had helped them even in the slightest. “What about when you were kids?”

“Sorry?” he looked confused.

“You boys are very close, and you’re extremely protective and responsible, I’d say you were there for him a lot growing up?” It took a moment but finally Dean nodded. “If Sam ever had problems sleeping as a child, would you do anything to help with that? Sometimes an ingrained memory like that, especially if it was repeated during the formative years with some kind of comfort associated with it, can be helpful when reapplied,” Maryanne offered by way of explanation.

She could see the gears turning in his mind and hoped that maybe, just maybe, they’d found something that would work better than loading Sam up with medication.

“I’d read to him,” Dean eventually said. “King Arthur, stories with monsters that get defeated in the end, heroes, that sorta stuff. Though he got more into the literary classics when he started school.”

Maryanne smiled. Books they could definitely work with. “We have a small collection of books here for the patients, would you like to come see if he’d like any or if some of them sound familiar?”

“You think reading to him could solve his problem?”

“No, but I think it could be a real step in the right direction.” Dean shrugged at that, seeming to take it as their best option, and let her lead him to the room where they kept the books.

* * *

He ended up picking a few. _The Great Gatsby_ was the first on Dean’s pile and after a moment of laughing to himself, Maryanne watched as _Sam I Am_ became the second. A few more titles followed, _The Odyssey_ being one that stuck in Maryanne’s mind as an interesting choice. He’d asked if they had any books about King Arthur, but their library wasn’t that extensive. Some classics from different eras and reading levels were present, but not much beyond that.

They returned to Sam’s room after picking out the books, and Maryanne was happy to see that Dean appeared a little lighter even though the weight he was carrying was physically heavier. It was a miracle what a small spark of hope could do for a person’s demeanor.

He peeked around the door to check if Sam was sleeping, the poor thing still wasn’t, before he announced himself. “Yo, Sammy, this place has their very own reading rainbow,” he said happily and placed the decent sized stack of books on the small table by the door.

“He raided the library,” Maryanne pointed to him, and was glad when Sam smiled at Dean’s grand gesture.

“He’s not getting arrested, is he?” Sam’s voice was broken, as it had sounded in the days prior, and he looked no less tired, but he seemed more content than before. If only everyone had a brother that could put a bandage over wounds such as these with just a few books.

Maryanne pursed her lips. “I haven’t decided.” She chuckled when Dean winked at her before he sat down in the chair. “I’ll pop back in when visiting hours are up.” Both boys nodded, though Dean was already eyeing the stack of books and choosing one.

“How about we start with _Gatsby_? Huh? You loved it in high school even though you read it in middle school. Overachiever much?”

Dean started with some bantering before he actually got into the reading, his rough but warm voice filling the hallway even as Maryanne walked down it and away from the room.

_“In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice…”_


	2. Chapter 2

Visiting hours in the psychiatric ward closed at six due to the nature of their patients and when Maryanne came by, she didn’t even have to enter the room to know that Dean was still there, voice filtering through the hallway. It was definitely quieter than before, tired from almost two hours of probably nonstop reading, but he was still going.

When she peeked her head in the door, Sam was leaning up against the back railing, eyes closed, breathing easily. Could he actually be resting? Sleeping the first time she’d actually seen with her own eyes?

Dean noticed her the second she poked her head in and nodded to her. He finished what she assumed to be the paragraph before his voice petered out and he stopped. While Sam didn’t open his eyes, she could notice his breathing change and she sighed internally. Resting his eyes then, not resting the whole of his body like he so desperately needed.

The elder brother came up to her, still intent on being quiet. “Visiting hours are over, I’m sorry,” Maryanne said, because she was. No one else could bring Sam the ease that his brother could.

“Can’t make an extension?” There was a hopeful uptick in his voice, but Maryanne had to shake her head.

“Rules are strict in this ward, we can’t make any exceptions. But you’re of course welcome back tomorrow.” She hated the way he sighed, nodded, and earmarked the book before he closed it. Rules were rules though, and they were in place for the safety and wellbeing of everyone in the building. “Would you mind if I?” Maryanne asked, and gestured to the book in his hands.

“Go for it. Anything to keep his mind, off, well, his mind,” he quirked a small, halfhearted smirk before he handed the book over.

Maryanne took it, happy he was trusting her with what would hopefully be an instrument of progress. She expected him to leave the room, but he turned back toward the bed, and she didn’t have the heart to remind him that hours were up.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said. At that, Sam’s eyes opened and settled on him. As soon as Dean saw that his brother was aware and not seemingly in the throws of a hallucination, he gently placed his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow, alright, old sport?” he smiled at him, which Sam made an effort to return.

“Drive safe,” Sam replied and locked eyes with him. It was in that moment that Maryanne felt she was intruding on something very private, but couldn’t look away.

“Always do.” He lightly clapped Sam’s shoulder before he straightened, smiled at Maryanne, and walked past her and down the hallway toward the exit.

Maryanne placed the book back on the table with the others. “I’ve got to do my rounds, but I can be back in an hour if you’d like me to keep reading?” she offered, wanting to make sure she got the okay from him first.

Sam nodded and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly and Maryanne stepped back to the door. It was only because she was making one last sweep to be sure that things were in their places that she caught the slight flinch across Sam’s features.

* * *

As promised, once she had checked in on the other patients and staff, Maryanne returned to read to Sam. Dean had gotten through a substantial portion of the book and she picked up right where he left off, trying for the same calming cadence that he had slipped into so naturally. It helped, she could tell, but not to the same degree.

Eventually she had to go home for what remained of the night, though she’d be back in the morning. She left her notes with the other staff nurses, advised them about the books and Dean’s methods, and headed home.

But once there, she found herself unable to turn her brain off. If her husband were still alive, bless him, he’d tell her to ‘power down’ and kiss her on the temple. More often than not, it worked like some sort of magic no science could explain.

She wasn’t that lucky, though she did manage to catch a few hours, she woke up long before her next shift and spent the next few hours researching things she already had a fair deal of knowledge about. There had to be something to help Sam, and yet there was nothing. His case was unlike anything they had ever seen before, which was really saying something.

It was getting worse, there was no respite, and she was honestly frustrated with the whole thing. She couldn’t imagine how Dean must have felt.

He was a more intense protective older brother than she had ever seen. He seemed to do better when he had a task at hand that could be used to improve an outcome. He also carried too much on his shoulders alone.

She guessed that as Dean spent more time with Sam, though hopefully not much more if they could find a way to help and get the younger man out of the ward, she’d have more than just observations and intuition to go on.

By the time she began getting ready for work, she had spent just as much time thinking as she had researching, and both methods of trying to find a solution had her coming up empty handed. There wasn’t a magic pill, of course, for this degree of mental and physical distress, but a stepping stone or something concrete to try would have been appreciated.

Her mind didn’t stop working even as she drove to the ward and set up for the day.

Maryanne completed her list of primary tasks when she came in for her next shift, grateful that things had gone smoothly for everyone over the night, and began to make her rounds. Sam’s room wasn’t the first on her list, but she found herself drawn there all the same, not because of the reading, but because of something that sounded distinctly like humming.

There wasn’t anything akin to music in the ward, which was why the quiet melodies seemed so out of place. They weren’t distracting, but they pleasantly seeped through the open door and down the bare hallway like a calm wave up against the cement walls.

When she looked in, she had to freeze in place, otherwise she would have hopped into a situation that seemed to already be being dealt with.

Sam was staring into the corner of the room, only pausing to close his eyes tightly, reopen them, and stare wide-eyed back at the corner. The corner where there was nothing. His entire body was taut like a rubber band, ready to snap at the slightest additional stimulus. His hands were fisted into the white sheets despite the bandages.

Dean, on the other hand, had his feet kicked up on Sam’s bed, one boot tapping rhythmically against Sam’s clenched hand. It was a soft tapping, in time to what he was humming. There was a book open in his lap, but his attention was solely focused on Sam.

It didn’t take her long to place ‘Hey Jude’ as the tune Dean had chosen. Why, she had no idea, but she could already see that it was working. Sam’s eyes weren’t blown quite so wide and he was working to get a better handle on his breathing. Dean kept doing what he was doing and checked his watch a few times in the next minute, apparently keeping track of how long the hallucinogenic episode was lasting.

He had experience dealing with episodes like this, that became immediately clear. Many people would have gone the noisy route, trying to assure the person that there was nothing there or that what they were seeing wasn’t real. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. Dean probably knew from experience what worked best.

He grounded his brother quicker and better than most trained physicians. The touches with his boot, the music, his presence just by itself, all seemingly simple things that gave Sam something real and tactile to distinguish from whatever his mind was presenting as the truth.

When it finally broke, Sam’s gaze shifting from the corner to Dean’s boot against his hand, Maryanne let out a breath of relief. She wasn’t sure how long it had lasted, but it hadn’t been bad enough to warrant getting help, which she was sure Dean would reach out for if the situation called for it.

“You good, Sammy?” Dean asked once a few more moments had passed and Sam had begun to relax back against the mattress. Sam just shot him a tired glance, not paying attention to Maryanne off to the side of the doorway. “I know, I know, good relative to what exactly?” he sighed. “What was he doing?”

“Dean-“

“We talked about this. They said it would help for you to talk about it, right? If you won’t tell them, I’ve got a better idea of what we’re dealing with, clue me in, let me help shoulder it a little. Stone number one, remember?” He had dropped his feet, closed the book using his finger as a marker, and leaned toward the bed, blocking Maryanne’s view of the younger brother.

“He didn’t _do_ anything. He just stood there, talking.” It was so quiet she almost missed hearing it.

“ ‘bout what?”

“Cas.” Just one word, quieter then and previous two statements. It had some impact, because Maryanne could see Dean’s shoulders fall.

“What about him?”

But she didn’t get to hear the rest of the conversation. A call went out over the PA system about a problem with one of the other patients, and she was forced to tear herself away to see what the commotion was about. Maybe there was someone she could actually help.

* * *

The patient was alright once they had gotten him calmed down and re-settled, which was a relief. None of her visits to the other patients turned up any red flags, and she found herself delivering Sam’s twice daily dose of medication as the evening came to a close. 

Dean was reading again as she knocked on the open door to come in. They had finished _Gatsby_ apparently and were onto something else. Dean’s tone of voice was the same, but Sam’s gaze was far away. He was listening, she could tell, but he wasn’t completely present.

It was getting worse, there was no doubt about it.

“Time for meds, Sam,” she announced, and Dean stopped reading immediately. Sam thankfully, probably surprised by the sudden other presence in the room, turned to her, and took the pills without complication. He then sunk back against the pillows and the bed frame, never quite looking comfortable.

Maryanne didn’t miss the pained expression on Dean’s face, the one that had cemented itself over the past few days. He had tried to hide it at first, but his bravado was failing and genuine worry was taking its place. Whatever Sam had said about Cas must have had some effect on him.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but hours are up for the day.” She was truly sorry to have to say it, but rules were still rules.

Dean closed the book quietly and left it with the others. “Yeah, I know.” He stood slowly, as if the weight of the problems in the air and in the room rested solely on his shoulders and threatened to asphyxiate him at the same time.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, having taken a step closer to the bed so he could rest his hand on Sam’s arm, being mindful of the bandages that were still present. “I’ll be back first thing, alright?”

There was a minute nod from Sam and nothing else, but even that should probably have been considered a victory. He’d been speaking less as time went on. Whether it was from exhaustion, his hallucinations, or a combination of both, Maryanne wasn’t quite sure.

When Dean left the room, satisfied with Sam’s nod, Maryanne followed him out.

“Dean?” she piped up when they’d gotten a few doors down.

He stopped and turned around.

“I don’t mean to pry, you know we’re trying to be as helpful as we can,” he actually nodded as she said that, which she felt an immense amount of relief for, “but if Sam’s having specific hallucinations that we can combat in some way…would you mind me asking…who is Cas?”

His shoulders fell as if the weight on them had increased exponentially. Dean ran a hand across his face, the bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin and haunted look on his features making him seem much older than he was. Some people had old souls, others felt that way because of how much they had been through, and she guessed it was probably the latter in Dean’s case.

“He’s, uh, he was, sorry, a friend, a brother to us. He passed a few months back.” There was gravel in his voice, and if he kept talking it would make a path to the house where the rest of the story was being kept under lock and key. Maryanne opened her mouth to express sympathies, it really was awful, but Dean just held up a hand and shook his head slightly. “I know, thank you. Just…not today, please?”

And really, what could she say to that?

Nothing. There was no way to fix it or make it better, especially since she didn’t even know a fraction of the story and the brothers seemed intent on being the only two that knew the words.

Maryanne had felt helpless many times in her line of work, mental disorders were tricky monsters to deal with and often times they never fully let up, but she shone as much light on them as she could in hopes that they would shrivel and hide and no longer be a problem.

But Sam and Dean were something else entirely.

Her shift ended soon after and the first thing she did when she got home was call her son, something she had been meaning to do for the past few days.

Robbie sounded healthy over the phone, as a man his and Sam and Dean’s approximate age should sound. He was happy she had called, really, and proceeded to excitedly fill her in on the progress his daughter was making.

She was crawling now, imagine that! He promised to send a video in the morning, but just in him describing it, she should see the light in his eyes, the smile in his voice, and something in her own mind eased. Maryanne promised to fly over and see them as soon as things at the ward died down and Robbie, knowing how much the job meant to her, assured her that there was no rush. He, in turn, promised to facetime more to make up for it as a form of a happy medium.

When their call ended, Maryanne felt a sense of peace and relief that had been slowly waning ever since the Smith brothers wound up in her care.

Of course, unbeknownst to her, things were about to come crashing down at their feet as soon as morning light hit.


	3. Chapter 3

She was covering for one of the other nurses in the morning before visiting hours when the shouting started. It wasn’t uncommon in the ward, but it was always cause for concern. That concern turned into genuine worry when she and Adrian, another nurse that had been nearby at the time, followed the shouting to Sam’s room. A sequence of ‘no!’s all varying in intensity and loudness bounced back and forth against the bare walls.

When Maryanne came to a stop in the threshold to the room, Adrian two steps behind her, Sam was sitting up in bed, facing away from the door, legs swung over the side. His hands were pressed over his ears so hard that his arms were shaking.

“No, you’re lying, you’re not real, that’s not, no. No!”

In his time spent in the ward, Sam thankfully didn’t have a history of violent outbursts like some of the other patients. What Dean had told them about Sam’s hallucinations backed that up as well. It put Maryanne just slightly more at ease as she entered the room.

“Get a sedative ready, just in case, even if it doesn’t do much good,” she quietly instructed to Adrian, who nodded before he headed to retrieve it.

“Sam? It’s Maryanne, just here to check up on you, alright?” Maryanne announced herself before she moved any closer. When she moved around the bed to be facing Sam’s front, he hadn’t moved save for the shaking that was slowly overtaking his whole body. His eyes were screwed shut, jaw clenched, chest hitching as he tried to get his breathing under control. It was bad, the worst she’d seen.

He was probably aware of her presence, but after a few moments of not responding, Maryanne reached out and barely touched his shoulder. Sam’s eyes sprung open at that, but there was no malice behind them like there occasionally was with other patients. There was just fear.

“You’re alright, Sam, it’s just me and you, I promise.”

There was a split second of recognition, his hands couldn’t cover all the sound apparently, before his eyes widened and he pushed himself further back on the bed. He was looking at Maryanne, but more at her torso than at her eyes.

“Not her, not her, please, she didn’t do anything.”

It was so quiet that Maryanne had to strain herself to make sure she heard it correctly. Dean had mentioned that Sam’s hallucinations would ‘attack’ other people in the room, was this what it looked like?

Adrian reappeared in the door with a syringe of sedative and passed it off to Maryanne before he stepped back to keep vigil in the threshold, ready to step in at a moment’s notice.

“Sam, whatever is happening, it isn’t. No one is doing anything to me, or to you, or to anyone in this room.” She kept the syringe out of sight as she leaned down and placed a hand on his knee, which was closer to her now than his shoulder after he had moved. “We’re all okay.”

His attention shifted from her torso to where her hand had landed. He kept focusing on it, like an anchor to pull him out of the depths of his own subconscious nightmares. She was providing him a lifeline, just as she had seen Dean do. She’d hum, but as a last resort, she was tone deaf as anything and didn’t want to risk messing with a method that seemed to work with the brothers.

“What are you seeing?” Maryanne asked gently and squeezed her hand.

Sam let out a long breath through his mouth, hands clenching and unclenching on the sheets where they had fallen from his ears. “He killed Dean. You came in and he…you too, there’s blood…everywhere.”

He didn’t deserve this. That was her immediate reaction. No one did.

“I need you to look at me, Sam, please.” Her gaze was steady and thankfully, though it took him nearly half a minute, he met it. “Look at my uniform. Spotless, just washed,” she ran a hand over it for emphasis. “Same with the linens. The floor is clean,” Maryanne toyed with the sheets and tapped her foot on the floor, giving him tactile evidence that would hopefully overpower what his hallucination had tried to tell him. “Nobody has been hurt. Dean’s alright, I’m alright, you’re alright.”

Some of the shaking eased in his frame that had shrunk even over the course of the week. “Dean?” His big brother’s name, like a magic word, doing its best to fix the problem even when the man himself wasn’t there.

“It’s not visiting hours yet, but I’m positive he’s alright.” Sam nodded just a bit at that, which was progress, but he still wasn’t completely out of his own mind. “Would you like me to call him?” While it was met with some hesitation at first, there was another nod.

The syringe went into her back pocket and she motioned for Adrian to come take her place. “This is Adrian. He’s another nurse, you’ve seen him before, you know him. He’ll sit with you, I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” Sam looked between the two of them and at the spot on his knee Maryanne’s hand had vacated. Nods were apparently all he was able to offer at the minute, but it was some form of communication, so Maryanne was happy with it.

She made her way over to the nurse’s station, pulled Sam’s file, and dialed Dean’s emergency contact information. It rang twice before Dean picked up.

“Who’s this?” He sounded tired, even from the two words, and Maryanne found herself wondering if she had woken him up or if he hadn’t really been sleeping in the first place.

“Dean, it’s Maryanne, Sam’s nurse from the ward.”

There was some rustling from the other end of the line. “Sam? He’s okay, right? What happened?”

“We had some trouble pulling him out of an episode this morning, I was just wondering if there was something I could tell him from you so he knows you’re okay?”

“I’ll head over there right now, seeing my face will make sure he knows.”

Maryanne sighed. “It’s too early, Dean, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t be able to admit you to see him.” She wished that she would have been able to, it likely would have done both the brothers some good.

She could hear the air rush out of him. “Yeah, yeah, right.” The defeat in his words, even though it was under two hours until he could get in to see Sam. “Tell him…I’ve been playing way too much with the rainbow slinky while waiting for his ass to get better.”

“Repeat it verbatim?” Maryanne asked with just a slight uptick on the corner of her mouth. She had no idea what a slinky had to do with anything, of course, but if it worked, it worked.

“Exactly. And that I’ll be there the second doors open.”

Maryanne assured that she’d pass along the message and that she’d see him soon. When she made it back to Sam’s room, she was glad to see Adrian and Sam in the same position, with Sam seeming a few degrees calmer and starting to come back to himself.

“So I talked to Dean,” was all it took to turn Sam’s attention from the other nurse back to her, “and he says, and I quote, he’s been ‘playing way too much with the rainbow slinky while waiting for your ass to get better’.”

She wasn’t sure what she had expected by way of response, but the smile that spread across Sam’s features hadn’t been it. But she wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

* * *

It didn’t surprise Maryanne that Dean was there to sign in as soon as visiting hours opened.

“How is he?” he asked as soon as he spotted Maryanne. His hair looked more disheveled than normal, no doubt from the worried morning he’d had.

“Alright now. He didn’t sleep much, if at all, during the night, and hasn’t said anything since he came back around. He did smile at your message to him though, which is a good sign,” she assured.

Dean let out a sigh and put a fist to his forehead for a moment. “He’s not getting better, is he?”

It was the question Maryanne had been dreading, even though the whole staff knew the truth by this point. “We’re doing all we can but…he can’t continue like this. Not just for his psyche, but his physical health as well.”

The taller man nodded. “Guess I had better try my damndest to bore him into sleeping then, huh?”

“Whatever works.” Which, at the moment, was unfortunately nothing. And Dean knew it. Maryanne knew it. The staff, the doctors, probably even Sam himself knew it. And Maryanne saw all of that on Dean’s features, in his shoulders, in how he seemed to crumble from the inside out.

He started walking in front of her towards Sam’s room and perhaps two steps from the threshold, his demeanor changed. His spine straightened, his steps lengthened, and he put on an attempt at a smile.

A family member downplaying the severity of the situation, as well as their own worry and fear, for the benefit of someone else. Maryanne had seen it countless times and it never ceased to crack at the wall she had tried to put up around her heart over the years. These boys did a better job at breaking it than most.

“So, we’re onto what now? Finished _Gatsby_ , how many times does a person have to read it to see how horrible Daisy is? I mean come on. I figure two times is enough.”

“You read it before?”

“Course I read it, everyone’s read it. Maybe not as many times as you but come on, it’s a classic.” There was a pause. “Let’s see, where were we? Right! _Odyssey_ and the cyclops goat island. Fun times.” Dean rearranged the books and picked up the right one before Maryanne heard the metal chair scraping against the floor tiles as Dean pulled it up closer to the bed. He’d sit like that for the next few hours, boots up on the mattress, reading until his voice sounded like it could give out.

Whatever worked.

And if it meant Sam got a bit of respite, both she and Dean knew it was worth it.

She checked in periodically throughout the day, of course, little glances in through the door’s window or to deliver food and meds. Twice Sam had been in the middle of an episode, with one of those times being staring straight at Dean as he had gone white in the face. One of his hands was pressing into the palm of the other against a scar that Maryanne had noticed a few times. Dean’s hands were on his brother’s shoulders and he was speaking to him in a low, soothing tone.

Maryanne couldn’t hear what he was saying, but was confident that he had it under control and would call for help if he needed it. That, and she again felt as if she were intruding on something just the two of them shared, something she didn’t understand the depth of, and found herself continuing down the hallway.

It wasn’t that her other patients weren’t interesting or tragic in their own ways. She tried to feel for all of them, of course, some more than others, but there was something different about the brothers. Some inherent sense in her that they didn’t deserve what had been put on them, but at the same time that they had experience dealing with scenarios that were much beyond what normal people should have been experiencing.

Sam had, thankfully seemed to have caught just a bit of sleep, but Dean kept right on reading.

After working in the ward for so long, having an even cadence of soft speech and a few voices for various characters thrown in, lightly filling the hallway around Sam’s room was a nice change from the usual silence or rattling of equipment or shouts of the other patients. Dean brought with it a sense of calm. No wonder Sam was able to get some shuteye.

As the afternoon progressed into evening and the hours for the day wound down, Maryanne noticed the reading shifting into talking and then into what sounded like some light arguing. She hadn’t yet heard the brothers argue beyond the typical sibling bickering that Sam would tiredly roll his eyes at, so the development was definitely something to be worried about.

She stopped in the doorway, tray with water and pills in her hands, not disguising her presence. But they were only focused on each other, seemingly oblivious to her standing mere feet away.

“There’s always something, we just haven’t looked hard enough,” Dean was saying, to which Sam was shaking his head. He was more rolling it back and forth against the pillow propped up on the bed frame, but the message was still the same.

“Dean, there’s nowhere _to_ look, not for something like this.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair and dropped it into his lap. Maryanne spotted _The Odyssey_ off to the side, which meant this had been going on for some time, and was definitely not a marker of something good. “If I can’t find something-“

“Then I’ll die.”

Sam cut him off and sucked the air out of the room in three short words. Maryanne’s grip on the tray tightened, as did Dean’s entire frame. If Dean’s facade wasn’t already cracked before from the pressure, it was shattered now, and Maryanne wouldn’t have it.

“I thought Dean said you’re normally the optimist,” she piped up and finished her route to the opposite side of the bed.

Sam let out a single breathy laugh. “Yeah, well this isn’t normal.” He looked between his brother and her before he took the medication with a swig of water. Dean hadn’t looked up from where he was wringing his hands in his lap.

“We’ll get you better, Sam, things like this, they take time to work through and heal from, but we’ll find something that works,” Maryanne did her absolute best to be reassuring, since it was what she wanted more than anything, and while Sam tried to look appreciative, she could see through it.

He didn’t believe it.

The only thing worse than a patient that was suffering was one that had accepted it and for all intents and purposes given up in the face of it.

She couldn’t blame him for it, not really, it was a miracle he was doing as well as he was, but she hadn’t wanted it for him and Dean.

The older brother stopped her train of thought before it could get any further by standing up and shrugging his jacket on. “I’m finding something, Sam, I’ll be back.” He cast another look at his defeated brother before he headed out the door, Maryanne on his heels.

“Dean! Where are you going?”

“To find something, get a second opinion, didn’t you hear me?” his steps didn’t slow.

Maryanne transferred the tray to one hand and used the other to reach out and lightly grab his arm, thankfully stopping him in his tracks. “He needs you here.”

Dean turned around to look at her, jaw clenched. “You think I don’t know that? But what good am I really doing other than delaying the inevitable?” His voice broke a bit on the last word and he shook his head. “I know we’re doing all we can, but I need to see if there’s someone anywhere that might know something that can help him. Because I—I can’t.”

He was failing. Or at least he felt like he was, Maryanne could see that. And she needed to convince him otherwise. “You can and you are. None of the staff can get him calm like you can and even tired as he is, he lights up whenever he sees you. Whatever help you’ve been offering, it’s gotten him this far, and that matters,” she squeezed his arm for emphasis.

“Not far enough. I appreciate it, I do, but I need to find something to help him, and it won’t be here.” He reached his other arm up to dislodge her hand, but gave it a similar clasp in return. “Do what you can. I’ll be back in a few days tops.”

He turned, walked down the hallway, and out of the ward, leaving a breadth of silence and hopelessness in his wake.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the final chapter, thank you to everyone for reading and following along!

Unfortunately, Maryanne had experience with family members that promised they would return and then never did. Dealing with compromised mental states was a challenge, that she understood, but she could never comprehend the lying and flight that followed, never to be heard from again. It just made bad cases worse. If she hadn’t seen the strong connection between the brothers with her own two eyes, she may have had an inkling that it could turn into a similar situation.

But Dean said he’d be back. Sam seemed confident that he’d be back. So Maryanne believed he would return.

A few days passed with no word from Dean. Maryanne knew the effect the older brother had on Sam, but she didn’t truly see it until Dean was no longer in the picture. Sam became much less verbal and spent more time in a half conscious state, kept awake only by the constant noise of his hallucinations.

She and the other nurses kept reading to him or playing soft music whenever the situation permitted, but nothing worked quite like Dean’s voice. He’d catch a few minutes of sleep but then be violently jerked awake, searching the corners of the room for a figure that wasn’t there.

Maryanne offered to get him ear plugs, but Sam refused, saying they wouldn’t do any good anyway, he’d tried everything like that in the weeks leading up to his stay in the ward.

Weeks.

It was longer than Maryanne had expected, in all honesty, for someone to survive like this, granted his situation had been deteriorating at a faster rate since entering the hospital.

He remained nonviolent and mostly still, apart from when the hallucinations had him freezing up in terror or moving around the room to escape what was following him. He was thinner than he was when he had arrived, his tall frame and sunken cheeks reminding her more of a skeleton with every passing day. It was like she and the rest of the staff were watching him wither away before their eyes. His situation was heartbreaking, watching it happen, and knowing that nothing they were doing was making a significant difference.

The few days turned into a week, and that was when Maryanne started to get worried. Any light that had remained in Sam’s eyes was slowly being extinguished the longer he was tortured from the inside out.

They had talked about transferring him to a facility for more extreme cases, but really what more would they be able to do for his condition? They tried a few different medications, finished what remained of _The Odyssey_ and started another book, but nothing brought him around. The only time he would really look at them was with sheer terror in his eyes, which Maryanne knew from experience meant nothing good.

The only positive out of the length of the situation were that most of Sam’s lacerations had healed, so the bandages were gradually removed over the following days. It was one less thing to worry about, which Maryanne would take. His ribs were still causing him some pain, but they had done all they could for them and they’d heal in their own time. Sam wasn’t moving much to cause them any additional stress anyways.

On the ninth day Robbie facetimed her as promised, and while watching her granddaughter crawl around her son’s living room, Maryanne found herself smiling and laughing for the first time in days.

It wasn’t healthy to take the job home with her, which she knew from plenty of practice in doing just that, but she couldn’t completely cut herself off from it either. In trying to help and believing there was a way to alleviate the problem, she connected herself to her patients. She put as much hope into their recovery as she wished they would put into their own.

Maryanne was back on the tenth day after two days off to find that conditions hadn’t improved since she had left. She was beginning to wonder if maybe she should have followed Dean out on his adventure to single handedly save his doomed brother. She had tried calling on previous days, leaving messages assuring him that nothing urgent had happened, she was just checking in, but she never got a reply.

But she couldn’t worry about both brothers, she couldn’t. She just didn’t have the capacity. So Maryanne just had to wait and hope that he’d find his way back to them, and sooner rather than later.

The day continued with its usual amount of incidents, nothing remarkable, and she was sitting at the nurse’s station around eleven at night filling out paper work, the door to the ward locked to her right, when someone came and knocked on it.

The noise had her nearly jumping out of her skin and her pen made a line across the notes she had been making. No one was supposed to be down in the ward that late, save for her and the two nurses that were in the on call rooms, and the doctors would have called or paged ahead.

She slowly stood up from the desk and made her way over to the door. It was only when she got there to see past the wires and the glass that she could make out Dean standing on the other side. She immediately opened it from the inside and stepped out to join him, leaving the door open just a crack behind her to hopefully not disturb the patients.

Maryanne was one second from asking him where he’d been all that time and how they all needed him back a few days ago to talk through other options. Sam had needed him the whole time. Her mouth opened but no words came out. He seemed to be swaying on his feet where he stood, and it didn’t take any encouragement other than a hand on his wrist to pull him down to the waiting area chairs.

The circles under his eyes and stubble on his chin stood out under the harsh white lights. He looked like he’d been to hell and back since she’d last seen him.

“Anything?” was all she was able to ask, but she was sure she already knew the answer.

To her surprise, tears sprung in Dean’s already red eyes and he shook his head. As the light shifted on his face she noticed what appeared to be a fading bruise on his cheek along with a cut along his hairline. He’d been in some sort of fight fairly recently. With the swaying and obvious hits he’d taken to the head, she wouldn’t rule out him having a minor concussion, but for the moment it could wait.

“No, I uh, no, there’s nothing.” His speech was punctuated with a swallow, no doubt to help with the tightness that was probably building in his throat along with the tears. “I talked to everyone who might know something, there’s nothing.”

There was no remaining bravado, no wall up around what he was afraid would happen, no false confidence in his eyes. There was just brokenness.

“I mean, Bobby and Cas, they probably would’ve been able to find something,” Dean let out something between a laugh and a breathy sob. “But they’re dead, and I can’t fix this.”

“Dean,” Maryanne started quietly, but he only kept shaking his head. After a moment, she reached forward and put a hand on his slumped shoulder. “You’re giving all you can, Sam knows it, and it matters.”

“Not enough.” Dean looked up at her just in time for Maryanne to watch a tear track down his cheek. “I’ve got one job, and I can’t do it. It’s…”

“You feel helpless, like nothing you do really matters?” Maryanne took a guess. When Dean’s look shifted, she knew she had part of his inner turmoil nailed. “I’ve worked here a long time, Dean, with many complex cases, and I know the feeling. And I won’t lie to you, this is one of the worst I’ve seen.”

Dean pursed his lips at that but Maryanne just squeezed his shoulder.

“But everything you’re doing, no matter how insignificant it may seem, it helps, I promise you. He wouldn’t get the minimal sleep he does without you. The time you spend reading to him is time he doesn’t spend stuck in his own head. And all those little moments compounded? I think that’s why Sam’s still here for us to be talking about in the first place.”

Dean appeared to actually be listening to what she was saying, but that didn’t stop the tears, which he wasn’t bothering to hide, probably due to the exhaustion. “I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t. We do what we can until something works, but we can’t give up on them or ourselves in the process, no matter how bad things look.”

She had never pegged him as someone that gave up easily, and his thought process wasn’t giving up, but being forced to accept that there wasn’t an easy solution to this whole situation and that there may never be one. But it wouldn’t do either of the brothers any good if Dean felt like he had failed at helping his little brother.

Gradually Dean took a few deep breaths in and shaky ones out before he ran a hand over his face to get rid of the tear tracks. “Any chance I could see him? Please?”

The no was right there on the tip of her tongue. But it was nearing midnight, which meant it was time for her rounds anyways to make sure things were still going alright. With her patrolling, surely half an hour wouldn’t be a problem, not when it had the opportunity to do Sam some good that he had been sorely missing in the last ten days.

“Just keep your voices down,” was all she said, and the thank you she got in return was one of the most earnest in her whole career. She got Dean a paper cup of water before they went into the ward, and as soon as she was sure he wasn’t going to topple over, led them to Sam’s room. She’d keep an eye on him and when morning came, she’d recommend he visit the other areas of the hospital to get his head checked out.

A quick glance in the window confirmed that Sam was still awake, but not apparently suffering through a vivid hallucination, which was a relief. Maryanne lightly tapped on the door twice before she opened it. “Sam? Someone here to see you.”

That managed to get his attention in a way that few things had recently, and the way his eyes widened and a small smile spread over his face would stick in her memory for years to come. “Dean.” It was the first word she had heard him say all day.

“Heya, Sammy.” Dean smiled at his brother for a moment before he crossed the room in three long strides and pulled him into a hug. Not too tight, given Sam’s rib injuries, but tight enough to convey all the emotions buzzing around his head. Sam’s arms went up loosely around Dean’s back, returning the gesture with all the strength his exhausted body possessed.

When they pulled back, Sam was still looking at him. “Thought visiting hours were over?” His gaze shifted from Dean to Maryanne.

“I’ll pick Dean up when I finish my rounds,” she glanced at her watch, “in half an hour or so. Something tells me you boys need the time and won’t be causing any problems.”

Both of them nodded at that. Maryanne turned to leave just as Dean was pulling the chair up to the bed perhaps a bit closer than normal. She wasn’t sure if they’d read or talk or both, just anything to ease their minds would be beneficial. Their voices didn’t extend past a foot or so outside the room so as soon as she exited she lost track of where their conversations may have been headed.

As promised, she went on her rounds and found nothing out of the ordinary that needed attention, which was a relief. If there was ever a night for a quiet ward, this was it. It put her at ease too, like a puzzle piece had been found, knowing that Dean was safe and back where he belonged at Sam’s side.

And that was exactly where she found him when she returned forty minutes later.

Dean was sitting in the same chair, boots up on the bed, head tucked into his chest. His arms were crossed in front of him and his breaths were even. It didn’t take much more than a glance to tell that he was completely asleep.

Sam, on the other hand, was watching her through half-lidded eyes, still awake, but looking more relaxed than he had in a long time. They had a chemical effect on each other just by being in the same room, and it was truly incredible to bear witness to.

The book they had apparently been reading was in half, face down on the bed. Sam’s gaze lazily followed her as she picked up the book, hating how the spines bent and warped over time.

“Any chance you could let him sleep?” She was surprised to hear Sam’s quiet voice coming from the bed, such a simple request, one that Dean no doubt needed. Maryanne looked between the boys, Dean asleep, Sam seemingly halfway there, and then to the book in her hand.

She really needed to stop getting so connected.

Making as little noise as possible she picked up and moved a chair from the other side of the room to be closer to the brothers. She then sat down, crossing one leg over the other, and began reading from the first paragraph on the left page.

She made sure her voice was quiet and even, as relaxing as possible, and it didn’t take long before Sam was in the same state as his brother, head tilted towards him, bodies and souls lining up and following each other even in sleep.


End file.
